


Don't Breathe My Air

by Senket



Series: SGA-7: Detectives In Space [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Case Fic, Dreams, Dying In Dreams, M/M, Mystery, Trapped
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-09
Updated: 2011-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senket/pseuds/Senket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When SGA-1 go on a routine friend-making mission, they're asked simply enough to pass a test that involves getting in a pod and going to sleep for a while. The problems start when Rodney won't wake up, and get worse when the delegation refuse to let them re-enter the testing chamber; they call on Lestrade's team to fix things, because when there's a mystery, who else can you call but Sherlock Holmes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Breathe My Air

_Rodney knew when he was dreaming. Usually the signs were obvious- whales. There were none about currently, but he was a brilliant physicist, and so the strange broken laws of nature that populated the surreal landscapes of his mind stood out as glaring errors in the fabric of non-reality. This was a dream, he could feel it._  
   
 _John Sheppard’s presence in his bed, sleeping on his stomach, arms under his pillow, bare at the very least to his waist where the blankets lay, was somewhat of a give-away._  
   
 _Rodney sighed, sinking into the mattress. Light spilled in from the window; John looked golden in it, tussled hair dark against Rodney’s white sheets, his back a long stretch of warm-looking skin marked with the occasional white scar._  
   
 _He might never wake up._  
   
 _Rodney glanced away when John shifted, running a hand up through his hair and to the headboard, stretching._  
   
 _The pull of muscle drew Rodney’s eye back. John peered out from under the crook of his elbow. He grinned wryly; Rodney swallowed._  
   
 _Rolling his shoulders back, John worked his muscles loose in descending order: twisting, rolling, arching. Fuck. If he had the chance to get that in his bed, he’d order his entire village to pretend they had a ritual that required sleeping with the trading party’s leader too._  
   
 _“Morning.” He never heard John’s voice sound like that, soft around the edges. Even Sheppard’s drawl had a hint of suspicion to it; he was always closed._  
   
 _Rodney couldn’t adjust. He knew it was a dream: it was so terrible and wonderful he just wanted to wake up so it could stop hurting. He rarely remembered dreams that weren’t nightmares and he didn’t want to remember this one. Desire bled through him so thick he couldn’t breathe._  
   
 _“Breakfast?”_  
   
 _Rodney mumbled something indistinct in answer. Lucid dreaming was one thing, but there was a difference between awareness and control, and Rodney- Rodney the hypochondriac, Rodney who still had nightmares about whales, Rodney who regularly lost face thanks to his own cruel subconscious- Rodney very rarely crossed over into the second._  
   
 _John laughed at his expression, reaching across the scientist to grasp the tray on Rodney’s bedside table. Too busy watching the dip of John’s throat and the stretch of his shoulders to pay attention to the food, Rodney jerked away automatically when the smell registered._  
   
 _He slammed his head into the table-edge. Falling back with a shiver, Rodney blinked out the white spots from his eyes, pressing fingers against the line of his skull. They came away slick, the red far too bright to be real as it glistened against his skin._  
   
 _Rodney blinked rapidly, mouth pulled at the corner with diluted shock. He glanced at John._  
   
 _The man smiled in that formless way that made everything surreal, cheeky and happy-looking._  
   
 _“John?”_  
   
 _The colonel quirked a brow, tucking a slice of grapefruit between his teeth to help Rodney sit up. He tore away the empty rind and tossed it back onto his plate, shifting the tray towards Rodney. “Bacon?”_  
   
 _Rodney stared down at the food blankly, focused on the glasses standing side by side- orange and milk._  
   
 _John laughed, shifting the tray from lap to floor. “Not hungry, then.”_  
   
 _John’s expression finally changed- a flicker of passion, gentleness Rodney had only ever seen in dark places, a muted breath. John edged closer, pressing his heels against Rodney’s calf, stroking fingers against Rodney’s neck. He nuzzled into fly-away hair, lightly brushing his lips against the shell of an ear. “Rodney...”_  
   
 _Rodney shivered, fear more than arousal. Wrong, everything was so wrong; he just wanted to wake up, god, why couldn’t John ever look at him like that._  
   
 _He drew in a shuddering breath. John pulled away, dark eyes flickering over Rodney’s face. A smile danced at the corner of his mouth, wry and amused. It looked like John for real._  
   
 _“God, Rodney, you really have no idea what...” John chuckled, soft, warm and low._  
   
 _Rodney shut his eyes; he felt sick._  
   
 _The sound of shifting cloth was his only real warning. Lips pressed against his- soft, at first, pliable, but quickly growing insistent. Rodney let it happen, going slack. John seemed unperturbed, pushing closer, rolling his tongue along Rodney’s lips and pressing into his mouth._  
   
 _Exaggerated pain burned across Rodney’s chest, flaring behind his eyes. He knew he should struggle, try to push John away, try anything._  
   
 _‘This is the balance of it,’ he thought instead, hysterically, shaking hands gripping his sheets. Drawing off slowly, John slid away and moved to gather the clothes strewn across the messy floor. Rodney whimpered, gagged and tried vainly to pull air through his rapidly swelling throat. Anaphylaxis rushed over him, agony burning through his stomach as every muscle tensed in recognition._  
   
 _It felt like defeat, like his limbs were turning to stone. He struggled, soundless, as he tried to suck in a breath. He was dreaming but he knew how it feels to suffocate and his brain was clever. ‘Please,’ he strained, trying to make out the other man’s shape through his rapidly blurring vision, tears more than oxygen deprivation. John buckled his belt, pulled on his boots, happily oblivious._  
   
 _Rodney slowed and stilled. He felt his skin burn, felt his body sag, felt the world go black and cold. He gave up._  
   
\----------  
   
“What do you mean, ‘he won’t wake up?’”  
   
Lestrade groaned when Sheppard’s forehead creased, his darkening expression communicating clear threat despite the fuzzy camera image.  
   
“The crises in this galaxy are really astounding,” he grumbled to John. (The blond had instantly fallen into parade rest at Sheppard’s expression, a deeply-ingrained habit that no longer surprised anyone.)  
   
John merely cocked an eyebrow, watching Sheppard’s figure as the man growled, ruffling his hair. _“Okay. Shut up. The Arhens wanted to test us, the usual, whatever- we got in these pods, went to sleep, woke up- except McKay fucking won’t.”_  
   
A muscle in Sheppard’s jaw jumped.  Teyla tensed beside him. Irritated and anxious, the colonel stomped away, disappearing off-camera. Teyla’s dark eyes followed him before turning to face the lens.  
   
 _“The Arhens will not agree to trade with us, since we have not passed. They will neither allow us to re-enter the chamber, as we have already undertaken their ‘test.’”_ She paused a moment, looking grim. Lestrade sighed heavily- always bad signs, these things. _“I have convinced Colonel Sheppard not to ‘persuade’ them.”_  
   
“God knows how long that’ll last,” Greg muttered, drumming his fingers against his leg. He saw John’s tongue flicker to wet his lips- tense too, then.  
   
Teyla’s mouth tightened in answer.  
   
“So you want us to go in and take this supposed test, try to wake up McKay while we’re there?”  
   
 _“That would be an accurate assessment, yes.”_  
   
“Yeah. Sure. Why aren’t you asking Lorne’s team?”  
   
 _“Our dreams were... very peculiar.”_  
   
“Oh.”  
   
They all glanced at Sherlock. The man was smirking. “Pray explain,” Sherlock said, posture stiff and expression attentive.  
   
The colonel reappeared. _“Get your asses over here first, and we will.”_  
   
Personal, then. Lestrade put his head in his hands, feeling Sally’s hand heavy on his shoulder.  
   
 _“Sheppard out. Hurry up.”_  
   
The feed clicked off.  
   
\-----  
   
The Arhen civilization was normal enough for Pegasus. They were developed enough for permanent settlements but their technology didn’t go too much farther than gas-lamps; that was, aside from what the Ancients had left behind. Those artefacts were treated instead with religious reverence, as always.  
   
Sherlock gazed at the milk-white pods with disinterest while the local priest started to speak, giving a grand speech about ‘worthiness’ and other things he avoided listening to. John was busy trying to read the display above Rodney McKay’s head: brainwave pattern, pulse, temperature.  
   
“John?”  
   
“Sleep cycle normal- typical length, even. Looks like he’s in the middle of his second REM period, which is usual. Although...” he cocked his head to the side, looking thoughtful. “Since this is McKay, I’m sort of surprised his sleep cycle didn’t drop into REM faster.”  
   
Hm. If McKay’s sleep in the pod was normal... perhaps Sherlock would experience a ‘normal’ cycle as well, despite his polyphasic sleeping pattern. He wondered if it would affect his-  
   
Sherlock glanced at Lestrade as the team leader cleared his throat, raising his eyebrow at the two men. Both Greg and Sally were watching him and John with an exasperated expression. The Arhen man looked incensed that they were whispering to each other instead of paying attention to his grand speech.  
   
John’s expression instantly settled into one of polite interest as he turned to face the alien, smiling faintly and inclining his head to direct him to continue. Sherlock merely rolled his eyes and sat at the end of an open pod to wait.//

 


End file.
